


The Beat that My Heart Skips

by Black_Betty



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Based on a Tumblr Post, Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Erik is still jealous though, I Don't Even Know, Jealous Erik, M/M, Smitten Charles, charles does kiss some other people but it's all in good fun, charles is sexy, erik is awkward, i somehow prompted myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Betty/pseuds/Black_Betty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven drags Erik out to the club, ostensibly for some work-related "team building." She also invites her stodgy academic brother along. Erik anticipates awkward dance moves and a night of second hand embarrassment. What he gets is something else entirely...</p><p>(IE. remember that time I accidentally bunnied myself on tumblr? My life is slowly spiralling out of control)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beat that My Heart Skips

**Author's Note:**

> So i wrote a prompt for this sexy video on tumblr: http://black--betty.tumblr.com/post/66572580472/nieniekoto-raisesomehale-inquiringcharlie 
> 
> And then ikeracity, that loveable scamp, was feeling blue (ie. emotionally devastated) after watching 12 Years a Slave and I told her I'd write her something to cheer her up...and she presented me with my own prompt. 
> 
> I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS? HOW DO PEOPLE DANCE IN DA CLUB? I KNOW NOT, I AM OLD AND MY DANCING DAYS ARE A FOGGY RECOLLECTION IN MY OLD LADY BRAIN AS I GO TO BED AT 9PM. Also, this was meant to be pure smut and then somehow all the mushy feelings got involved. Sorry about that. 
> 
> Title comes from Beyonce's "Crazy in Love" which is, of course, the song that inspired this all :D
> 
> EDIT: NOW WITH *AMAZING* ART BY GARNETQUYEN: http://garnetquyen.tumblr.com/post/70373800633/oho-this-little-comic-which-based-on-a-scene

 

It’s the end of a long day, at the end of a very, very long week. Erik is finishing the last of the paperwork on the Summers brothers, a low-grade headache pulsing behind his left eye. His shoulders are so tight with tension he feels like they’re brushing against his ears, and he just wants to go home and unwind with a drink and something stupid and senseless on the TV. Preferably something with a lot of explosions.

Of course just as this thought passes through his head, someone is knocking on his office door.

“Go away,” he shouts as the door swings open and Raven asks, “Ready to go?”

When he looks up, she’s wearing something beaded and sparkling that is so far from her usual work getup of torn jeans and combat boots that he can only sit and stare. She grins at him, the flash of her teeth bright against the dark blue of her skin, and she does a little turn,

“You like?” He huffs and looks back at the file in his hand, signs off on the last page and stands to return it to the monstrous filing cabinet tucked in the back corner of his office.

“Is there a particular reason you’re dressed like that? Or is there some new dress code I’m unaware of?”

When he looks back at her, her hands are on her hips, and she’s glaring at him.

“What?”

“I _knew_ you forgot,” she says, “I knew it. I told Angel that you were totally going to bail.”

He racks his brain, tries to figure out what he’s missing, but he can’t come up with anything. She sees him floundering and sighs, exasperated.

“Erik you said you were coming out for drinks with us tonight, remember? We’ve been planning it all week? Team building through liver damage?”

He does recall something about a night out, or something, but it feels like forever since they had that conversation, and he had just assumed they’d gone without him like they always did.

Ever observant, Raven sees the way he’s scrambling for an excuse, for a way out, and her mouth firms in the frightening way it does when she flicks aside a seemingly unmovable obstacle.

“Oh no,” she says, “Not this time.” She comes around his desk and grabs his arm, hauls him out of his office and down the hall. He reaches out his powers to flick on the lights and shut down his computer, locking the doors behind them as he twists and tries to liberate himself from Raven’s iron grip.

She only releases him when they get to the lobby where Angel, Sean and Azazel are waiting, and he realizes it’s too late to back out now.

“Ready to go?” Raven asks brightly, and herds them out the door. Azazel claps a commiserating hand on his shoulder before shoving him into the waiting cab.

  
***

If Erik had any illusions about a quiet pub and a pint of beer over friendly conversation, they are shattered when the cab pulls up to the Hellfire Club. The bass is pulsing so loudly he can hear it outside on the street, beating in time with his radiating headache. He rubs at his forehead and looks longingly at the departing taxi as Azazel shakes hands with a stoic bouncer who lets them skip the seemingly unending line that winds around the corner of the building.

As they head inside, a group of girls in tottering heels stagger past him. They bump up against him in the doorway and one whistles loudly, eyeing him head to toe as her friends laugh loudly and drunkenly, the bouncer scowling and herding them toward the street.

Erik decides he needs a drink. Immediately.

Raven is already pushing through the crowd, winding around the press of bodies in a way that Erik can’t seem to master, forcing him to elbow past people instead. It leaves poor Sean making his apologies for him as he lags behind, Erik focused on the promise of alcohol and the bar that beckons to him like a flourescent Mecca.

Angel had unfurled her wings and fluttered over the crowd ahead of them, is waiting when they finally break free from the crush smiling smugly and drinking something that is pearlescent and bubbling.

“Took you long enough,” she shouts and Erik scowls at her, waves at the bartender who ignores him in favour of Raven and the way she bends low over the bar and flutters her long eyelashes. He’s about ready to take matters into his own hands and draw a bottle of something expensive over to him by the metal of the lid when Angel nudges him and hands him a bottle of beer with a smile.

He’s fairly certain she can’t hear him shout his thanks as the DJ winds the club up to a hysterical level of euphoria with some popular dance track, but he’s sure she can see his appreciation in the way he tips his head back and downs half the beer in one massive swallow.

They make their way over to a low table and section of couches where Azazel is chatting up a woman in white fur and little else. Raven gestures at her and bends close to Erik, says,

“That’s Emma—she’s an old friend of Charles’.” Emma smiles and offers Erik her hand, her grip firm and relentless when he shakes it.

 _And is darling Charles coming out tonight?_ she asks, projecting it into their heads. Erik winces and Emma grins unapologetically, says, _Sorry sugar, it’s easier than yelling barbarically over the music,_ just as Raven hollers,

“He’s supposed to be!”

“Oh joy,” Erik mutters, not quietly enough to avoid getting elbowed in the ribcage. Raven is fiercely protective of her brother, and for good reason. Erik has met him here and there over the past year when he swings by the office to bring Raven lunch, but he seems impossibly bumbling, always in unironically oversized glasses and four layers of sweaters. The handful of conversations he’s managed to trap Erik into have always been annoyingly earnest and pushy, like he’s trying to weed out all of Erik’s problems and solve them for him. Erik is sure he’s harmless, but still, he’d rather be left alone.

He can’t imagine Charles of all people in a club packed with sweaty twenty-somethings simulating sex on the dance floor. Even though Charles is younger than him by a few years, he’s always seemed painfully academic and buttoned up. When Raven perks up and shouts, “He’s here!” Erik braces himself for a night of awkward second-hand embarrassment.

He sees the tall, gangly boy that works with Charles first, the one who has been dating Raven on and off for the past few months. McCoy. He looks as uncomfortable as he must feel, bashfully waving hello and letting Raven loop her arms around his neck to pull him down to the couch next to her. Erik looks for Charles but only sees Sean chatting up some young guy with a great ass that Erik admires as he leans over the bar to get Sean a drink. It’s only when he turns back and follows Sean over to their table that Erik realizes this isn’t some random stranger, but Charles himself.

He knows he’s gawking, but he can’t help himself. Gone are the layers of sweaters and shapeless corduroy trousers. Instead Charles is wearing a pair of jeans that seem painted on and a white v-neck t-shirt that gapes around his collarbones and hangs loose around his hips, but does nothing to conceal the narrow angle of his waist.

His hair looks combed for once, though he ruffles it as he rakes his fingers through it and waves hello to everyone. His eyes alight on Erik who is the only one standing, and his face seems to brighten, even in the dark lighting of the club. He comes over to shake Erik’s hand and without the thick frames of his glasses Erik notices how very blue his eyes are. They strike him somewhere low in the gut and he can only nod as Charles asks if he’s well.

Charles frowns, and says, “oh, but your head is killing you, I can feel it from here.” He lifts his hand to his temple and wiggles his fingers, “mind if I…?”

Erik wants to say no, wants to refuse his help the way he always has before, but something about the worried crease between Charles’ eyebrows and the way he chews at his lower lip, combined with the way Erik’s head is throbbing makes him nod his ascent. Charles concentrates for a minute, and then Erik can feel the flow of tension and pain ease away from above his eyes and in his temples, feels suddenly so much more loose and calm, even in the frenetic rhythm of the room as the night spirals farther into insanity.

“Thank you,” he says begrudgingly, and Charles grins,

“No problem. Least I can do considering my sister was the one who dragged you out here.”

“Hey!” Raven shouts from behind McCoy who is sitting in her lap, surprisingly comfortable and content, “It’s good for him!”

Charles opens his mouth to retort, but the music suddenly changes and Erik is struck again by how Charles’ face is so damn _bright_ as he shouts, “I love this song!!” and then races off onto the packed dance floor.

Emma gets to her feet and Raven follows, shoving McCoy off of her and hauling him up alongside Erik who watches, baffled, as Charles touches people here and there to try and make room for himself amidst the sea of writhing bodies.

Erik feels a strange sick curl of something like embarrassment turning over in his stomach.

“Can he even dance?” he asks Raven, cringing when Charles stumbles over someone’s foot and narrowly avoids spilling the drink of a tall woman with a white mohawk, who melts when confronted with Charles’ penitent face. He wants to turn away, but it’s like witnessing a car accident in slow motion. He knows it’s going to be gruesome, but he can’t seem to stop watching.

He says “I’m going to get another drink,” but Emma keeps him in place with a hand on his arm, and Raven smiles at him and says,

“Just watch.”

The song is wailing horns and a low pounding bass beat that sounds distantly familiar, possibly something he heard on the radio a couple of years ago while driving. The crowd shifts and moves in rhythm with it, swallowing Charles up, and Erik thinks with relief that maybe that's the end of it, but then a low cheer rises up, a rising swell of sound, and the crush of people seem to ease and part, loosening and backing away to clear space.

To make room for Charles.

He can see him now, though only in flashes of pale skin, the light reflecting auburn off his hair. He’s dancing, completely open and carefree, his fingers running through his hair, his face dazzling as he laughs, but he’s not making a fool of himself.

He’s…Erik doesn’t know what to think, only that his mouth has gone completely dry. He was unaware it was possible to move like that in tight jeans, but somehow Charles grinds back, hands running in a slow push down his thighs, legs spread wide before he pops up again, rotates his hips in a way that makes the crowd shout. He thinks it’s a sin for Charles to cover an ass like that, perfectly round and perfectly outlined in denim as he moves, in his everyday baggy corduroy.

“What,” Erik starts but trails off when Charles throws his hands in the air above his head and his shirt hem rises up to his ribcage, revealing the muscles of his stomach slick with sweat. His focus narrows to a laser point as a drop of sweat slips down and buries itself in the waistband of his jeans. He’s not sure he’s breathing as Charles rolls his body, arms above his head, miles of pale skin on display, thinks he makes some kind of guttural sound as Charles runs his hands down his throat and licks his thumb in a slow drag, and trails it down the center of his chest.

“I have no idea where he learned it,” Raven is saying as Charles swivels his hips low and then pops his body in time with the down beat of the music that seems to roll over him and swallow him up, “It’s not like he went to dance class or anything,”

“Some things are innate,” Emma says, and sighs, “I do love to watch him dance,”

Erik agrees, as does the crowd who cheers and slowly closes in on him, hands on his hips, slipping up under his shirt, Charles grinning and tucking his thigh in between another man’s legs, a man who grips him by the ass and hauls him close.

Erik feels suddenly disappointed and strangely disgruntled.

“I’m going to get another drink,” he mutters and heads for the bar, pretends not to notice to look Emma and Raven exchange as he slips away from them.

He’s still waiting to attract the bartender’s attention minutes later when the song shifts to something else and Charles appears at his side grinning and breathless. His shirt is nearly translucent with sweat, and he has glitter in his hair and smeared along the side of his face.

“Hi,” he says, and Erik notices his mouth is redder than normal, full and red and smeared with someone’s lipstick,

“Would you like to dance with me?”

Erik stares at him, the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes ridiculously wide and hopeful. He wants to say yes, he desperately wants to be the one with hands on Charles, feeling the press and grind of his body, tucked impossibly close. He should say yes. The word ‘yes’ is on the very tip of his tongue.

There’s only one problem: Erik can’t dance.

He’s always been a little awkward, and more than a little hopeless on the dance floor. He’s one of those people who can’t seem to find the downbeat no matter how hard he tries. He is suddenly awash in the memory of his best friend Magda’s Bat Mitzvah when he had made the poorly timed decision to dance with her to L.L. Cool J’s “Doin’ It” and she had killed herself laughing at his expense. Now his face burns with the distant recollection, and he snaps out, “No” before he can even think to soften the rejection.

He catches a glimpse of Charles’ face falling before the bartender finally comes over and gives him an excuse to look away. By the time he’s done paying the man, Charles is gone. 

He takes his drink and heads back to the group, keeping his eyes focused ahead and avoiding the dance floor. Charles isn’t with them when he gets there, but everyone is staring at him, radiating different levels of interest and annoyance.

“Not dancing, Erik?” Raven asks, her voice sharp.

Erik shrugs and sits down next to Azazel, shoving him over closer to Emma who smiles at him from over the top of her drink.

“He doesn’t know how to dance,” she says, and Erik glares at her, thinks as loudly as he can about unscrupulous and sadistic telepaths. Raven makes a frustrated sound of disbelief.

“No such thing. All you have to do is stand there, right Hank?” McCoy looks panicked for a moment as though Raven might make him demonstrate and then nods slowly when she smiles encouragingly.

Erik ignores her and drinks from his beer, lets the conversation drift away from him as his attention is inescapably drawn back to the throng of people populating the dance floor. He tells himself he’s not looking for Charles, but finds him immediately anyways, eyes zeroing in on the auburn sheen of his hair under the flashing fluorescent lights.

He’s in close conversation with a tall man in a crisp white shirt, Charles smiling widely, the man swaying closer to him before gesturing at the dance floor. Erik watches as Charles nods and the man nudges him further into the crowd with a hand placed low on his back, turns him once they’re settled within the press of dancers and pulls Charles close against his body, gripping his ass with two wide palms and grinding their hips together. Charles looks a little startled, but recovers quickly, his eyes slipping closed as he starts to move to the music, rolling his body in time with his dance partner’s prompting.

Erik registers that his hand is aching and looks down to see that he’s clutching his beer bottle so tightly his fingertips are white. He turns to Azazel, but he’s busy kissing a line down Emma’s neck as she watches Erik with heavy eyes, an all-knowing smile curling her lips. Raven and McCoy are similarly entwined together on the opposite couch, and when he searches the room for Angel and Sean he finds them on top of a tall pillar dancing with a hype-girl in a devil costume.

So much for a team building.

He drains his beer and sets the bottle down on the table with a decisive clink. As he pushes his way through the packed club on his way to the door, he can’t resist one last look in Charles’ direction. He thinks about how things are going to be different the next time Charles comes into the office. Wonders if he will ever look at Charles the same way again in his bulky sweaters and too large glasses. Thinks that Charles wasn’t really that bad before, just a nice guy who showed an interest in Erik’s life, something Erik couldn't remember another person doing in a very long time. Thinks about the way Charles always had coffee and a sandwich for Erik when he brought Raven food, the way Charles lingered in his doorway smiling at him in a way that spoke of something unsaid.

When he finds Charles again on the dance floor, he’s pulling out of a sloppy kiss with the man in the white shirt, smiling a bit awkwardly at him before turning in his arms. The man takes this opportunity to run his hands down Charles’ chest in a way that makes Erik’s palms itch, but Charles distractedly scans the room, eyes snagging on Raven and the rest of them still tucked away in the back corner. Erik watches as he strains his neck to look over the crowd, and then falls back frowning, his face falling as though disappointed.

Erik knows that he’s stopped in the middle of a packed club right in the flow of traffic, people around him shoving at him, trying to move him out of the way, but he’s frozen, torn between two choices. He could walk out now and head home, pass out on the couch and go into work tomorrow with a hangover. See Charles again at lunch and pretend that none of this happened, that he didn’t see Charles in pornographic jeans, dancing like he was getting paid for it. Pretend that he didn’t see the hope in Charles’ eyes as he asked him to dance, the same hope that Erik now realizes was mirrored in his expression when he passed Erik food over his desk and asked him how his day was going.

He could do that, walk out and leave. He _should_ do that and spare himself the humiliation.

Instead he changes direction and stalks out onto the dance floor. Clears a path for himself with a gentle push and pull of his powers on people’s bootlaces and pocket change and silver bracelets. Squeezes around two women kissing languidly and dancing out of rhythm with the music to find himself suddenly standing in front of Charles, who looks startled at his sudden appearance.

He stops moving to the displeasure of his dance partner, his mouth falling open as he utters, “Erik!” on a surprised exhale.

Erik steels himself, ignores the man whose hands are still tightly clutching Charles by the hips and asks,

“Can we dance? I mean, do you still want to dance? With me?” It’s probably the most awkward proposition he’s ever offered someone, but Charles face lights up in the increasingly familiar way that Erik is growing aggressively fond of, and steps away from the man behind him closer into Erik’s space.

The rejected dance partner looks like he might argue for minute, before he shrugs and wanders off and Charles and Erik are left standing in front of each other. There are people everywhere, pressing against them, pushing them closer together, but Erik still feels like the moment is strangely private, quiet despite the wail of the music from the speakers piled in a pyramid behind them.

Charles closes the space between them, his hands coming up and hesitating for a moment before landing on his chest. Erik feels them there like they are burning imprints into his skin, and he shifts, uncomfortable, unsure of where to put his own hands. He is suddenly awkward and 13 again, feels his face flush, his hands curling into fists at his sides. It shouldn’t be this hard to just put his hands on a gorgeous guy who is standing right in front of him, his face beautiful and open and smeared in glitter.

“Hey,” Charles says, his hands coming up to capture Erik’s face between his palms. Erik looks into his eyes, finds he can’t stop his stupid mouth from blurting out,

“I’m not sure, I don’t know how—“ but Charles grins and cuts him off by sliding his hands down his chest and around his waist leaving a trail of fire across his body, pulling Erik in close against him. They’re pressed against each other now, stomach, groin and thighs and Charles leans back to give him a smile,

“I’ll show you,” he says, and they begin to move.

And really, it turns out dancing with Charles is just as easy as sex with Charles and breakfast with Charles and telling Charles about his life over coffee the next afternoon, curled in bed together.

Charles tells him it’s all in the hips, demonstrating while standing over Erik in bed wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and his largest oversized sweater. Erik pulls him laughing down to the bed and kisses him until he’s breathless and his glasses are askew. He’s not so sure about shaking his hips, but he thinks he’s figured out one important thing: some things, like dancing, are easier when you find the right partner. 


End file.
